Prompt– Right something for a friend’s birthday.
I will never not be none. Or alone. Shattered, we are the same blue-green. We are cut from same and cut the same. Though I whet and worry–your words are sharper. You grind them small and down for the children but they betray you: they make me laugh. Darkly, redly, madly. Our children are imperfect enough that we can like them. Tomorrow I will put on a black turtleneck, wire-rim glasses, and be my own boyfriend. Or we could go dancing. I look down, the ground beneath me, and I see you glinting. Sometimes you pick me up and sometimes we lie there, just, broken–the winter sun soaking us like jewels.